


Must Be Love

by Jehilew



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2020-01-11 20:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehilew/pseuds/Jehilew
Summary: Rogue and Gambit have a meet-cute, and Rogue has a few ways to feel about it. Canon-compliant with R&G #2.





	Must Be Love

**Author's Note:**

> Miss Ludi! Happy Birthday! I was originally going for smutty fluff, but I was feeling pretty inspired by that first page of Remy's scrapbook I'd described in 'Of Kings and Queens In Manhattan', so this is spun off that:) Though I guess it did go a bit smutty, cuz hi, I'm me! Haha

 —•oOo•—

" _Uhhhhawww_ , excuse me, miss, I need through."

Rogue hisses in her breath and jerks away from the older gentleman grunting his way up out the seat in front of her and shuffling clumsily past on his way out into the aisle. He stumbles into her seat a little, his hand tightly gripping the chairback, and she shrinks back, immediately regretting her decision to sit next to the aisle rather than by the window. She sweats buckets til he's gone, her anxiety kicking up the din in her head to a roar, intensifying the headache that's been killing for the past two days.

God, she _hates_ flying commercial. She'd purchased both seats of her row in an attempt to fly in peace and _alone_ , and she'd parked in the outside chair because given the state of her mind, the view out the window made her ill. And _still_ , other flyers bother the fuck out of her.

If it wasn't for the fact that using Danvers' flight would practically incite carnage amongst psyches, and that she didn't want to deal with all her teammates' goddamn questions, she'd either be flying herself or strapped inside the Blackbird.

Honestly, she's thinking this was one of her more stupid decisions. She would have already been home by now if she'd just sucked it up and ignored everyone. Instead, here she is, tense, more anxious than ever, and several hours behind everyone because she'd found avoidance to be her answer for everything she doesn't want to deal with.

"That's it, I'm turnin' over a new leaf," she grits out her teeth, moving herself over to the window seat, "no more runnin'. Just do what Logan said, and start bein' rude to get left alone instead."

Except she knows she won't do any of that. This isn't the first time she's told herself this 'new day, new me' bullshit. And it won't be the last time she fails spectacularly at actually following Logan's perfectly rational advice.

Not that he's exactly the voice of reason in any given moment, but he sure as hell sounds like it when he goes into grandpa mode, and that's good enough for her most of the time.

Rogue slams the window cover closed, flops back in her seat, re-adjusts her earbuds, and closes her eyes in attempt to block out the anxiety inducing surroundings. Unfortunately, while exceptionally good at blocking out the external, it's even better at encouraging the internal, and she finds herself once more sucked into the happenings.

Not necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, she's found that things simmer to a manageable level faster if she attempts to sort it a little. It's just that the most effective way of doing that seems to be letting it spill out all over a notebook rather than diving into her head, and she hadn't brought her journal on the mission.

A mistake she definitely won't repeat, she savagely vows as the mental onslaught laps, washes, then floods her consciousness, and threatens to yank her feet out and drag her under.

 _Mind control, no control, no control, no control, story of her stupid life steals life, ohh the poor, poor thing, you stole my life, no, mine! Stole it all, give it back! Give_ me _back! Me first—no me! Me, me, me...who is me? Shadow King...whispers, whispers, whispers, still whispering! Fighting, you fought us all, you fought them, too, but I couldn't fight him, I tried, you didn't try hard enough, I kissed a man, ooooh, yeah he was hot, I kissed him, sooooooo hot, his eyes—his eyes were weird, no beautiful, yes definitely fucking weird, his mouth! No I kissed him, his mouth, no, more like his hands, bitch no, his body, his—shut up! We all kissed him, too...wait was it real, you know it wasn't real, you didn't steal him, steal, you always steal, you steal it all, I didn't steal him, I don't have him, you can't have him_ … "but I wanted him."

Her own voice snaps her out of the mess, the start of that memory, and her eyes fly open. Her cheeks flush hot, and she shifts a bit uncomfortably, her reaction to that damn kiss— _kisses_! She'd kissed him over and over again, and under the Shadow King's thrall, she might've been, but she remembers all of them, remembers how badly she'd wanted him. All of him, because there'd been no mistaking his reaction to those kisses, either. That heat is sparking up again, and she can feel her body responding in memory of the feel of his, all long, lean muscles, the tension and ease of his movements, the hardness of his—

"You _idiot_ ," she hisses at herself, clamping her thighs together irritably and trying to void out the image of his strange, but surprisingly beautiful eyes blazing at her during those kisses. "You ain't got any business thinkin' like this, Anna-Marie. 'Cause you can't ever do anything about it," she finishes bitterly, the memory of his hands on her, moving her over him, making her toes curl in her shoes.

" _Urrrrrrgh_ , thank god no one knows," she groans miserably. That'd be a wretchedly embarrassing situation. Everyone already awkwardly treats her like the sexless thing she is, and she's done nothing but encourage the isolation; to do otherwise is to garner pity she absolutely does not want, and if they _knew_ …

_It doesn't matter if they know, they know you can't, you can't, you can't have him, I can't have anyone, he didn't know, you blew it, you could have—I could not, alla y'all shut the fuck up! And they know that, god that'd be hilarious, if they found out—_

"I said, _shut the fuck up_ ," she snarls quietly, nearly cringing out of her skin at the thought of anyone finding out.

The memories turn even hotter and more frustrating anyway, and the voices hiss and snip louder and more cruelly than ever, and she finally gives up. She yanks out the earbuds and shoves the stupid window open to stare out sullenly. She'll take all the goddamn noise and fuss on the plane if it'll drown out the bigger one in her head.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it, _stop it_ ," she growls under breath, half demanding, half begging, though she knows they won't til she's scribbled and scratched this entire shitshow all out on paper. Then, _maybe_ then, they'll quieten long enough to rest before she faces anyone.

"At least I'll never have to face _him_ again," Rogue mutters irritably, refusing to acknowledge the part of her that's just a tad wistful about it.

—•oOo•—

Rogue lands less than gracefully on her balcony, not really caring in the slightest how noisy she is. With the raging headache she's currently sporting, she just dares a bitch to come to her room and say anything about _anything_.

 _Flying flying flying, that's all you ever do is fly away, I had to, doesn't matter, you can't, because it's not mine, no it's mine! Mine mine mine_ mine _! No not mine, what is mine? Pathetic you don't know, we aren't yours, y'all ain't mine, nothing's yours, stop using what's not yours, yours, yours, mine,_ mine—

" _Goddammit_ , I know, and I'm _sorry_!" She snaps. Christ on a fucking cracker, her head hurts…

She quickly makes her way across the room to her drawers, opens the top one, and pulls out a bag and a ratty, well-used notebook. Her hands are calm about their task as she sets it all on top of the furniture and begins to efficiently break down a bud, her chill completely belying her current mental chaos.

 _Soon, soon she'll be okay, no she won't, all of us are still here, still stolen, she stole me, give_ me _back! The shadows are still here, they still whisper, whisper whisper whisper! I thought the shadows were gone? I don't like them, me either, we hate it here, yes, hate hate hate—_

"I hate y'all there, too," she snips back, refusing to engage on the inside for stirring them further. "And I swear to Jesus, one day, I'mma kill that stupidass Shadow King myself, it ain't like I don't know how to do it—"

_Yes, dear, I taught you well. Do it, do it like you did Danvers, no I won't, why not? Might as well it's all you do, she can do more, shut up—just steal him, steal steal steal, that's what you do, I can't help that—no one cares, excuses, good thing that Remy dude is gone, you'd just steal him too—_

"My _god_ , I hate all'a y'all," she growls, neatly rolling a straight joint. She knows most of these psyches don't belong to hateful people, she knows most of the slivers she's stuck with are only the scared and angry snapshots she'd gotten at absorption. She doesn't give a damn, she hates them all, and she hates the Shadow King the most for reining her in and fucking up the hard-won equilibrium she maintains to get by one day to the next.

And now of course these assholes bring that blasted swamp rat charmer she'd practically devoured back to the fore. Not that she'd forgotten him, of course she hadn't. You don't forget making out—that was a make-out, wasn't it? _Yes you fucking idiot that was making out, god you're pathetic—oh shut the fuck up, I wasn't actually askin' any of y'all, you twat_ —you don't forget making out with a man like him.

Not that she'd had any business going for it anyway, and that'd been made painfully clear the next day, when she'd seen him again. Charming, devastatingly handsome, smooth-talking as silk panties slipping to the floor, and sinful as Satan himself to taste and touch.

"It's a good thing that boy's long gone, else I'd whoop his ass again, too," she mutters, closing off the bag and stashing the rest of the pot back in the far corner of her drawer. After all, it's not as though she _appreciates_ the fact that he actually made her want so much of the shit she can't ever have.

Notebook and joint in hand, she grabs a pen on her way back out on the balcony. A short use of flight, and she's on roof, laid out flat on her back, joint lit, and eyes up at the night settling over the sky.

She's done this several times before, and even the psyches start relaxing to a more bearable buzz as they anticipate what's to come. She'll take three hits, and let that wash over her, them, then sit with that for a minute. Then, she'll roll over on her stomach, pick up her pen, and start furiously spilling out whatever, anything, _everything_ , thoughts, quotes, sketches of faces and places and experiences, _all_ of it, into pages her journal as she finishes her smoke.

After, she'll feel released, exhausted, hopefully relieved, and if she's lucky, she'll be able to pass smooth the fuck out well into the next day, roll into the next night's sleep unbothered, and not have to face anyone til the morning after that.

—•oOo•—

" _Chere, you the best time I had in an age, I simply must know y' name...an' I hope you'll call me Remy." He's looking up at her, stunning eyes to make you look thrice blazing fire-bright, a breathless smirk on his mouth, excitement coiled up in every fiber of his body._

 _And what a body, he has! She's no stranger to handsome men, and given the nature of her power and the minds she's stolen, she's technically no stranger to how handsome men feel, either. But to actually_ experience _straddling one, as opposed to living out the memory of someone else experiencing it are two different things, and this hot-eyed panty-dropper feels_ incredible _. Long, lean body, thick, tight musculature, hands light on her ribs, really only his fingertips skimming over her, he's not reaching for her just yet. The look on his face tells her that's going to change soon unless she stops him, and she doesn't want to stop him._

_Hell, her wits just scattered approximately twenty seconds ago, when her crash into him landed her right over his hips and right smack dab on top of his reaction to her, it's a wonder she can string a coherent thought together, anyway, let alone tell him to get lost if she wanted to._

_"Well, that's the name of a scoundrel if I ever heard one, sugar," she finally manages through a lazy smile she's not exactly feeling, pushing herself up off his chest. "I'm Rogue."_

_"Heh, and here you was, talkin' about scoundrel names," he snorts up at her, caresses now skimming up so close to the sides of her breasts, she shivers, and with an uncharacteristic lack of inhibition, she shifts into his hands. His eyes never leave hers, but he responds with a twitch between her thighs and with a brush of his thumbs over her nipples. "Rogue, I think this just might be love."_

_He's teasing, he's flirting, and she knows that, but there's also a part of her the thinks_ maybe _he means it,_ maybe _there's a kernel of truth to it,_ maybe _she wants that (actually, she just plain does, and never allows herself to think about it), and that part of her sparks hot in response, a sharp_ want _, a_ need _she usually pretends to ignore but isn't going to right now._

_She sits up tall on him, revelling in how his hands fall from her breasts to grip her waist, in the flash of his eyes as they follow the drag of his hands before coming back to hers. "It aint love, shug," she drawls down at him, delighted at how loud he sucks his teeth as she slowly runs her hands up his chest to grab him by the coat and yank him up for a kiss, "but it's somethin', that's for sure."_

_And she kisses him, not really knowing what she's doing, but he doesn't seem to mind in the least. His mouth opens, he licks into hers, his arms slip tight around her, and he crushes her into his chest._

_Her wits scatter further, and she's supposed to be doing something else, but she can't remember what anymore. All she wants to do is_ him _, because he's hot as hell, he makes her feel hot as hell, he's something solid, something real, and if it feels this damn good to ride him_ with _clothes, she'd kind of like to ride him without them._

_With that in mind, she grabs a handful of his hair, and gives him a hard enough tug to make him hiss at her. Grinning at him, she zips a hand down between them, cups him, rubs him, licks her lips as she makes him groan._

_"Whatcha say we really make this somethin', huh sugar?" She asks him, hand already in his pants. She pulls him out, gives him a few experimental strokes, thinks she'd like to taste him, then pulls him back in for another kiss._

_She's not quite sure how he manages it, but next thing she knows, her uniform is off, and he's flipped her over, has her legs spread wide, his dick in his hand, and has his mouth on her, his tongue licking, licking, licking as he strokes, strokes, strokes..._

" _Ohhhhh_ my god."

The sound of her own voice awakens her. Her heart rate is up, her breath caught and stuck, the psyches quiet, and her body so damn wound up, she knows all it'd take is a little touch, and she'd be _gone_.

She doesn't hesitate. Sex, she can't have, but masturbation, she can, and that was a hot as fuck dream.

Rolling onto her back, she opens her thighs just like in her dream, licks her hand, and slips it over her clit, attempting to mimic the licking sensations dream Remy has given her. She closes her eyes, rubs her breasts with her free hand, and picks up where the dream had left off.

_Licking, licking, licking, stroking, stroking, stroking, she watches his hand rub his dick, watches his tongue drag over her clit, over and over again, and she can tell he enjoys it. His eyes are on her, watching as he licks, and he lets go of himself to slide both hands under her ass and lift her up to him._

_"Mmm, you gotta sweet little pussy, Rogue, makes me so fuckin' hard for you," he pauses, eyes flicking back up at her. Then he looks back down at her, licks his lips, and adds, "anytime you want it ate out, come see me, yeah?"_

"Yeah, sugar, anytime, now come back here, I wanna get off, and then I want your dick," she pants out quietly, fully into the fantasy, imagining shoving his face back down on her. She'd never be so bold, so plain-spoken in real life, she doesn't even know if he'd get into dirty talk, and she's sure her version of dirty talk is stupid anyway, but it doesn't matter. This isn't real, it's all in her head, she'll never see him again, and she knows no shame or shy here.

She can feel herself getting close, and she thinks she'd better hurry up and get to the actual sex part, because she _really_ wants to imagine that, but oral has always been a wicked turn-on for her, and imagining him doing it is taking it to a new level. She bets he's damn good at it, too, and that leads to thinking about his mouth, the shape and texture of his lips, the way his tongue tastes, feels in her mouth, and _god_ , to _feel_ that between her legs—

" _Ohhhhhhhhhhhh_ my god, oh god, oh god, _ohgodRemyyessssssss_!" She gasps softly as she can, calling his name to finish out the fantasy, her eyes flung wide open at the ceiling, stars practically dotting her vision.

She lets her hands fall off her body, closes her eyes as she rides out the pleasure, lets herself calm back down to heavy drowsiness before she opens her eyes again. A glance at the digital class clock on her bedside reads 10:28 pm.

She frowns, somewhat disoriented. It's definitely still night out, it's dark in her room, but she knows it'd been close to three in the morning before she'd passed out.

A quick check of her phone tells her she's been out of it for nearly twenty hours.

"Holy hell," she mutters. She knows she's got some explaining to do in the morning, just like she knows the professor is aware of her quiet arrival (not the first time she's arrived quietly on her own to decompress alone), but she'd expected to be awake much earlier, and already checked in with him. Not a formal visit, just a little twitch on the mental link, something to let him know she's back, and fine so he'll leave her alone til she's ready.

Oh well. The psyches are only slightly roused at the moment, and she's still feeling a bit worn. She's not going to bother with him til in the morning. He's left her alone thus far, so she figures she'll enjoy it while it lasts.

She rolls over, eyes already closing, and drifts off to sleep, her mind blessedly blank and quiet, her body heavy and relaxed.

—•oOo•—

"Hi, Rogue. How are you today?"

Rogue pours another cup of coffee and ignores the man known as Nightcrawler to continue staring at the wall opposite the countertop she's leaning on. She's learned that he's not one of her teammates that will push, and if she doesn't engage, he'll immediately do his shit he came to do, and leave.

Rude, perhaps, but she doesn't care. She supposes the handsome German is likable enough, but she doesn't really encourage friendships, and his relatively newfound 'brotherhood' with her is unsettling.

She doesn't give a rat's ass if he's her adopted mother's son or not, they aren't siblings, and that's not a common ground she cares to build connection on.

Besides, she's in no mood to be friendly. It's awkward, anyway, and with the uproar upstairs, pretending niceties isn't something she can handle til shit settles.

As predicted, he picks up on the radio silence, grabs his whatever from the fridge, and leaves in short order.

She lets out a soft sigh and swallows a large gulp of scalding coffee. She doesn't give a damn that it hurts, in fact, she kind of welcomes it.

Pain, while unpleasant in and of itself, has a wonderful grounding affect, and after her very recent visit with Professor Xavier, she'll take all the grounding she can get.

It's not as though she can experience any real consequences of pain, anyway; once she hits her threshold, the invulnerability kicks in and saves her. She's grown somewhat desensitized to discomfort of it.

She'd know all about that, too, the threshold. With pain comes damage, and with significant damage comes death, except she reaches only small amounts of damage before Danvers' borrowed power nopes her body right the fuck out of the equation.

She may or may not have tested her limits a time or two.

She turns her thoughts out of that morbidity. Does no good, and it whips up the psyches. She's already mind-sore, no sense in worsening it.

She chugs the rest of her coffee, rinses out the mug, and puts it in the dishwasher. Blows a wild curl out her face. Pops her neck and sighs.

Time for the danger room, and all her teammates.

She puts on her bitchface and quits the kitchen, heading downstairs. She'll be a bit late today. Deliberate on her part; if she's late, Scott will only purse his mouth and clip out instructions at her, and they'll begin. No small talk, no suspicious looks, and no sympathetic ones, either.

Two minutes later, she sets foot in the Danger Room. As expected, Scott flings her a disapproving look (that she ignores). He also gives instructions in his very leaderly tone of voice (which she also ignores, it's the same thing all the time anyway, "Rogue, you're on blue team").

Very unexpectedly, Scott isn't the first person she sees, nor is he the second (though to be fair, there isn't a second anyone for a minute). Instead, her eyes snag on an all too familiar tall, long-legged, athletic frame in one of the X-men's stupidass bright yellow-and-whatever uniforms. Deep, heavy, coppery brown hair she knows goes to his chin and feels thick between her gloves fingers. A heavy trench coat that makes no damn sense to wear in a fight, and a bow staff casually slung over his shoulders.

Goddamn, that boy looks _good_ , and she remembers how he feels, too, and then she reddens as she remembers her dream, and what she'd done with it.

She hears something sounding like it might be introduction to a new teammate, but she doesn't _really_ hear it over the blood roaring in her ears, drowning out everyone but the ridiculously beautiful man unabashedly staring from his place next to Storm.

"'Ello, Roguey," Remy— _Gambit_ , she fiercely corrects herself—calls out in that rich, throaty yat of his, a flirty grin in place, startling eyes flared bright and fastened on her face like she's the only other thing in the room, and she shivers from tip to toe. "Long time, no see. Looks like you an' me's on the same team for sure now, yeah?"

It isn't til someone awkwardly clears their throat that she realizes she just rooted in spot and staring. She blinks out of it, flushed clear down over her chest, and glares at her stunning new teammate like all the world's woes are at his feet.

"Sure thing, shug, whatever. Just don't get in my way, and we'll get off great," she snaps, firing up even redder at her choice of words, remembering yet again her fantasy from last night.

He laughs, and it simultaneously sparks her soul and grates her nerves. "Ah, chere, I think we're gonna get off fantastically well, as you put it." He grins even wider and has the goddamn nerve to wink at her as he adds, "'especially the way I seen you get down an' tussle. Now, c'mon, girl, let's you an' me make it somethin' in here, yeah?"

And his eyes hold hers, the intensity there leaving no doubt that he's harking back to her words at him before that kiss on Muir Island, and her breath catches, her heart races, and under the scowl she flings at him, her excitement bubbles up.

It's _something_ , indeed.


End file.
